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BUCK 


SYRINX 


M  C  M  X  I V 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SYRINX 


PASTELS  OF  HELLAS 


BY 

MITCHELL  S.   BUCK 


adiov  u  iroipfv  rb  TEOV  //eAof  rj  TO 

T?fi>'  airo  rdf  Trtrpaf  KarafaifieTai  vifiodlv  v6up 

THEOCRITUS 


NEW   YORK 

CLAIRE   MARIE 

MCMXIV 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 

BY 
CLAIRE  MARIE 


PRINTED  MAY,   1914 


PS 
3STB3 


SYRINX 


LISRARf 


INDEX 


Foreword 9 

The  Shepherd n 

In  the  Forest 13 

Virgin  Love 15 

Delphi 17 

The  Friend 19 

Lesbos          21 

The  Ragged  Cloak 23 

To  the  Aphrodite         25 

Ashes  of  Desire 27 

Phaon 29 

False  Dawn 31 

The  Isle 33 

The  Votaress 35 

At  the  Games 37 

The  Epicure 39 

The  Orgy 41 

Nocturne 43 

The  Seeker 45 

On  the  Agora 47 

Shadow  Gold 49 

Pan 51 

Circe 53 

The  FallingjjLeaves 55 

Lethe 57 

7 


FOREWORD 

One  drowsy  day  of  summer,  Syrinx  wandered 
in  the  cool  depths  of  the  forest.  And  there 
Pan  found  her,  singing  and  garlanded  with 
flowers. 

-Brown-limbed  and  supple  nymph,  all  the 
pine-crowned  satyrs  and  the  dryads  babble 
thy  name.  Now  even  Pan  himself  desires — 
thou  art  very  fair  ...  I  love  thee. 

But  pale  Syrinx  only  smiled  in  disdain  for 
words  too  often  heard. 

The  god's  quick  eyes  darkened.     He  smiled. 
His  ready  hand  leapt  out     .      .     .     The  frail 
virgin  darted  away  like  a  shadow  among  the 
trees  and  over  the  fields     . 
9 


10  SYRINX 

Her  soft  lips  open  to  her  striving  breath, 
her  eyes  appealing,  the  nymph  slips  over  the 

flowered  bank  of  a  clear  stream     .     .     .     The 
waters  ripple  about  her  thighs. 

—  O  naiads,  help  me  quickly! 

Pan  reaches  out  .  .  .  His  arms  enfold 
a  thicket  of  sighing  reeds. 

Later,  he  culls  the  swaying  reeds  to  cut  them 
in  uneven  lengths  and  bind  them  side  by  side. 
Then,  placing  them  to  his  lips,  he  sighs  . 

The  clear  notes  glide  out  across  the  fields. 
Sometimes  they  are  very  sad  and  men  who 
hear  them  weep;  sometimes  they  are  loud  and 
clear  and  men  who  hear  them  laugh  and  sing; 
sometimes  they  shrill  and  men  draw  their 
cloaks  about  them,  dreaming  of  singular  things. 


THE    SHEPHERD 

When  it  is  night,  before  the  moon  has  risen 
and  the  skies  are  spattered  thick  with  stars; 
when,  in  the  distance,  all  things  blend  into  one 
and  the  sleeping  earth  touches  the  arched  sky, 
I  stand  before  my  tiny  hut  and  pray. 


Below  me  on  the  hillside,  their  coats  glowing 
softly  in  the  starlight,  lie  my  sheep.  And  from 
the  trees,  the  brooks,  the  grasses,  the  incessant 
chorus  of  midsummer  nights  trills  through  the 
air. 


Yet  I  know  not  to  what  or  to  whom  I  pray. 
Not  to  the  sun  or  moon  for  they  are  nowhere 
to  be  seen;  not  to  the  gods  for  there  is  no  temple 
it 


12  SYRINX 

nor  even  a  statue  here;  not  to  the  stars  for  there 
are  too  many  and  some,  neglected,  would  be 
jealous. 

Perhaps  it  is  to  the  sighing  wind  I  pray; 
perhaps  to  the  shadows  and  the  rolling  hills; 
perhaps  to  the  night  itself  which  seems  so 
peaceful,  all  embracing,  mysteriously  divine. 


IN     THE     FOREST 

Down  the  shadowed  forest  glade,  the  nymph 
flashes  like  a  silver  arrow  from  a  bow.  Her 
golden  hair  streams  out  like  a  flying  veil;  her 
eyes  are  bright  with  terror;  her  crimson,  sobbing 
lips  are  salt  with  tears. 

Behind  her,  a  dark  shadow  darting  nimbly 
over  the  silent  earth,  a  satyr  speeds,  his  cheeks 
all  flushed  with  red,  his  clutching  hands  stretched 
out. 

—  Ho,  ho,  ho!  chuckles  an  old  man,  leaning 
upon  a  staff.  Ho,  ho,  ho!  Why  dost  thou  run? 
Thou  wilt  be  caught!  Thou  wilt  be  caught! 

High  overhead  in  the  sunlight,  a  bird  sings 
gloriously  to  the  open  sky.    On  the  forest  path, 
13 


14  SYRINX 

a   squirrel   rushes   madly   over   the   grass   and 
scampers  up  a  mossy  trunk. 

A  gasp — quick  steps  upon  the  earth — a  cry. 

—  Ho,  ho,  ho!  chuckles  an  old  man,  leaning 
upon  a  staff.  Ho,  ho,  ho!  Why  didst  thou 
run?  Why  didst  thou  run! 


VIRGIN     LOVE 


I  sit  before  my  window  drawing  the  gleaming 
threads  from  the  distaff — and  I  wait.  Yet 
even  when  I  see  him  I  am  silent,  clasping  my 
longing  hands  over  my  knees  to  still  their 
trembling. 


Tossing  the  boyish  curls  away  from  his  brow, 
bright-eyed  and  lovely,  how  can  I  hope  that  he 
should  think  of  me?  How  dare  I  hope  that  he, 
so  beautiful,  should  stoop  to  love? 


His  voice  thrills  in  my  heart;  his  accidental 
touch  flashes  like  fire  through  my  veins.     And 
then  my  veiling  lashes  droop,  I  bite  my  lips 
15 


l6  SYRINX 

and    lay    sweet,    cooling    flowers    against    my 
cheeks. 

When  he  looks  at  me  and  smiles,  I  fear  him. 
Yet  some  day,  perhaps,  he  will  hold  me  in  his 
arms  and  then — then  I  will  only  love  him  and 
be  very  happy. 


DELPHI 

On  the  wide  green  slopes  of  Parnassus  there 
is  a  marble  temple,  a  very  holy  temple  in  the 
eyes  of  men,  where  a  god  speaks  in  a  mysterious 
way. 

Purified  by  the  ritual  ablutions,  clad  in 
spotless  white  and  crowned  with  laurel,  a 
young  priestess,  very  pale  and  very  beautiful, 
approaches  the  dread  chasm  which  opens  upon 
the  underworld. 


Her  flesh  quivers  at  the  approaching  ecstasy, 
her  breast  rises  and  falls  in  the  divine  afflation, 
her  eyes  darken  with  prophecy.    How  frail  she 
is  to   be  the   mouthpiece   of   a   god!     . 
17 


l8  SYRINX 

But  at  length  her  limbs  relax,  her  head  falls 
forward  and,  very  slowly,  she  begins  to  speak. 


But  I — I  love  the  simple  gods  of  the  woods 
and  fields;  they  are  nearer,  they  speak  more 
gently,  and  their  voice  is  the  song  of  birds  and 
the  murmurings  of  the  night. 


THE    FRIEND 

Surely  I  dream.  It  is  not  possible  thou  hast 
really  gone.  It  is  not  possible  that  I  have  lost 
thee. 


From  the  shadows,  I  saw  thee  in  his  arms 
above  the  flower-strewn  threshold.  And  all 
that  night  I  stood  alone  under  the  stars,  my 
hand  still  clasping  the  charred  fragments  of  the 
torch  burned  for  thy  good  fortune. 


The  distant  rumor  of  the  sea  murmurs  thy 
name;  the  silence  of  the  forests  is  perfumed 
with  thy  memory.  Each  well-remembered  ges 
ture,  each  fair  word,  each  glance  of  eyes  which 
understood  so  well  .  .  . 
19 


20  SYRINX 

Thou  hast  but  gone  on  a  long  journey,  hast 
thou  not?  And  life  ebbs  quickly,  hand  in  hand 
with  death  .  .  .  But  thou  wilt  return. 
Before  I  know  the  dream  is  true,  surely  thou 
wilt  return 


LESBOS 


Upon  the  bosom  of  this  sun-kissed  sea, 
beneath  fair  skies,  caressed  by  gentle  southern 
winds  perfumed  like  enamored  sighings,  lies  the 
Isle  of  Dreams. 


Its  marble  cliffs,  bright  with  anemone,  fra 
grant  with  myrtle,  rest  like  glorious  temples 
on  the  blue  waters.  On  the  flowered  grass 
among  the  olive  groves  or  shadowed  by  the 
pines  where  lapping  waves  caress  the  sandy 
shore,  virgins  and  youths,  inspired  with  beauty, 
walk  singing,  hand  in  hand. 


In   the   bright   cities,   laughter   fills   the   air, 
mingling  with  pulsing  music  and  fresh  voices. 


22  SYRINX 

From  the  altars  of  the  sanctuaries,  thin  fila 
ments  of  incense  waver  out,  diffusing  through 
the  sunlight. 

There  Sappho  lives  to  sing  of  love.  There 
young  Larichus,  white-limbed  and  beautiful, 
pours  from  the  glittering  wine  cups  crimson 
libations  to  the  gods.  And  over  all,  the  breath 
of  desire  floats  like  a  perfumed  cloud. 


THE    RAGGED     CLOAK 


-Release  my  arm,  O  insolent,  and  give  me 
back  that  rose  thou  hast  dared  to  steal! 


—  I  love  thee. 

-Thou  lovest? — beggar!  Then  look  not 
at  me  whose  love  is  worth  a  mina  at  the  least. 
Away,  tattered  chlamys,  seek  thy  kind! 

—  I  love  thee. 

—  Ho,  friends!  Who  wants  a  beggar  for  a 
lover?      Here    is    one    ready — almost    anxious. 
Look   at   his   faded   cloak!      Behold    this   rent 
23 


24  SYRINX 

through   which    I    thrust   my   hand!     . 
Ah!     ...     Ah!     ...     Off     with     thy 
rags,  deceiver!    How  wicked  of  thee  to  cheat 
me  so!    What!    What  sayest  thou? 

—  I  scorn  thee. 


TO    THE    APHRODITE 

Thou  art  the  source  of  all  the  loves;  truly 
thou  art  very  fair.  Yet  who  could  say  I  am 
not  fairer  still? 

Thy  rounded  limbs  are  cold  like  snow  while 
mine  are  yielding  and  warm,  glowing  with 
quivering  life  at  a  lover's  touch.  Thy  lips 
which  seem  so  beautiful  are  white  and  hard, 
while  mine  are  like  red  poppies,  tremulous  and 
sweet.  No  perfumed  breath  exhales  from  thee, 
nor  canst  thou  gasp  thine  ecstasy  into  a  silenced 
ear. 

Yet  I  adore  thee,  for  thou  art  immortal  and 
divine.     In  the  twilight  of  the  sanctuary,  thy 
pure  and  flawless  limbs  will  glow  through  the 
25 


26  SYRINX 

eddying  incense  after  my  own,  so  beautiful 
now,  have  crumbled  into  dust.  Men  will  look 
up  to  thee  long  after  remembrance  of  me  has 
passed  away,  and  still  thou  wilt  inflame  their 
quickening  desire  when  my  frail  shade  is  lost 
among  the  dead. 


ASHES    OF    DESIRE 


How  soft  this  couch  of  thine!  Beneath  my 
tingling  nudity,  its  glowing  silken  covers  scarcely 
seem  to  bear  me  up  ...  Let  me  lie  so 
awhile,  laved  in  the  utter  silence  of  the  flesh. 


Spread  out  my  hair  like  waves  about  my 
head  ...  A  moistened  tendril  clings  to 
my  weary  lips.  Draw  it  away  for  me,  so  that 
I  need  not  stir  even  a  finger  to  complete  my 
peace. 


How   fair   these   moments — and   how   dearly 
bought!     .     .     .     Alas!     .     .     .     Yet  be  not 

27 


28  SYRINX 

hurt  because  I  call  them  dearly  bought.  Thou 
art  a  man — thou  couldst  not  understand.  Nor 
couldst  thou  know  I  love  thee  more  for  them 
than  for  all  other  things  . 


PHAON 

Must  I  woo  thee,  flower  of  Lesbian  youth, 
fair-skinned  and  supple,  insensible  to  love, 
disdainful  as  a  god?  Must  Sappho  sing  to 
thee  and  play  the  man,  bringing  her  sweetest 
lyrics  to  thy  scornful  loveliness? 


Among  these  perfumed  gardens  where  the 
glowing  rose  and  hyacinth  breathe  out  their 
fragrant  souls,  among  the  tinkling  fountains 
and  the  olive  groves,  canst  thou  not  find,  within 
thine  heart,  one  spark  of  glowing  love  which  I 
can  sigh  into  a  flame? 


Alas!    Thy  brow  is  icy  cold,  thine  hand  all 
unresponsive   to   my   touch.     Thine   eyes  look 
far  away,  in  pure  content  of  Aphrodite's  gift. 
29 


30  SYRINX 

Why  wilt  thou  have  it  so?  Perhaps,  in  days 
to  come,  when  Sappho's  cithern  sleeps  and 
Sappho  wanders  in  the  twilight  land,  men  will 
look  back  to  thee  and  curse  thy  beauty  that  it 
stilled  her  song  .  .  .Ah!  Phaon! 


FALSE    DAWN 


0  friend,  I  am  not  She  thou  seekest.  My 
hair  is  warm  and  golden,  mine  eyes  are  blue; 
like  hers,  my  lips  are  sweet — thou  knowest. 


But  in  thine  ears  my  voice  echoes  like  a  voice 
heard  long  ago  which  calls  thee  still  across  the 
vast  solitudes.  The  touch  of  my  hand  is  but 
the  shadow  of  some  past  caress  which  distant 
memory  recalls  to  thee. 


Because  I  too  have  loved,  I  know.  And  I 
have  seen  her  image  weaving  like  a  phantom 
through  the  desire  of  thine  eyes. 


32  SYRINX 

Because  I  too  have  loved,  O  friend,  search 
on:   I  am  not  She  thou  seekest. 


THE     ISLE 


How  the  sea  glitters  in  the  sunlight!  Far 
out  over  the  flashing  waters,  seest  thou  the 
white  sail  of  that  speeding  boat  which  almost 
seems  to  fly  above  the  ripples? 


Here  on  this  pebbled  beach,  caressed  by  the 
clear  blue  waters,  where  spreading  reaches  from 
the  lapping  waves  glide  up  like  the  pleading 
hands  of  nereids,  the  gods  are  very  near. 


They  say,  to  this  lovely  island,  mighty  Zeus, 
concealed  by  the  semblance  of  a  white  bull, 
bore  on  his  back  Europa,  the  peerless  virgin, 
the  source  of  his  desire. 
33 


34  SYRINX 

It  may  be  at  this  very  spot  they  came  up 
from  the  waters.  Perhaps  among  the  grassy 
dells  through  which  we  lately  wandered,  they 
also  loved.  Perhaps  in  this  grotto  by  the  shore 
they  slept,  wearied  with  love,  the  virgin  mur 
muring  through  some  happy  dream,  her  fair 
head  pillowed  on  a  god-like  breast. 


THE    VOTARESS 


For  the  beauty  thou  has  given  me,  O  goddess, 
I  thank  thee 


I  stand  in  my  marbled  bath  and  see,  reflected 
in  the  green  water,  the  clear  glory  of  my  body, 
smooth  and  glowing  beneath  the  caress  of  my 
hands.  On  the  streets,  I  appear  in  my  fairest 
vestments  and  costliest  jewels.  When  the 
passing  men  turn  to  look  at  me,  I  part  my 
sanguined  lips  in  a  warm  smile;  and  each  month, 
at  the  full  moon,  O  goddess,  I  lay  at  thy  feet  a 
mina  earned  in  thy  name. 


Yet  neither  thy  love  nor  the  white  poppies 
of  Persephone  bring  the  forgetfulness  I  crave. 
35 


36  SYRINX 

Through  the  long  days  when  I  am  alone,  I  dream 
of  sunlit  meadows  and  crystal  streams  and, 
above  the  noises  of  the  city,  the  call  of  shep 
herds'  pipes  whispers  in  my  ears  . 


Then  I  close  my  door  and,  weeping,  clothe 
myself  in  a  simple  linen  tunic  which  my  lovers 
never  see  and  which  is  marked  with  green  and 
red. 


AT    THE    GAMES 


Well  run,  Lysippos!     Well  run,  O  gleaming 
arrow!    Artemis  herself  is  not  one  half  so  fleet! 


(By  Zeus!  nor  half  so  marvelously  agile — 
that  I  swear!  See  how  the  gliding  muscles  of 
his  thighs  ripple  beneath  the  skin.  Behold  the 
slender  waist,  the  broad,  smooth  bosom  stirred 
by  the  breath  of  conflict.) 


Ah!    The  laurel!    The  laurel  to  the  guide  of 
winds!     .      .      .     Ho,  Nisos,  why  limpest  thou? 
Ho,  ho!    Thou  wert  outrun  a  thousand  times, 
thou  feigner  of  accidents! 
37 


38  SYRINX 

(No  wonder  that,  when  he  shows  himself  on 
the  Agora,  even  the  cheeks  of  the  old  men  grow 
pale;  no  wonder  the  philosophers  cease  their 
windy  nothings  and  gaze  abashed  . 
But  they  are  all  fools!  .  .  .  Listen,  I 
will  tell  thee  a  great  secret  .  .  .  It  is  I 
he  loves!  It  is  I  he  loves!  .  .  .  Ah! 
.  By  Zeus!  he  is  coming  this  way!) 


THE    EPICURE 


Go,  thou  of  the  golden  hair,  and  bathe  thy 
self  in  perfumed  waters;  rub  thy  body  with 
wine  and  fragrant  oils  so  thy  suppled  skin  may 
glow  and  glide,  softer  than  silk  beneath  my 
touch. 


Loose  thou  thine  hair  above  the  smoking 
incense  that,  being  pregnant  with  the  divine 
fragrance,  it  may  delight  me  as  it  falls  about 
my  face,  over  my  lips. 


Then  lay  upon  thy  slender  nudity  this  tunic, 
these  silken  scarves  and,  over  all,  this  purple 
vestment  broidered  with  fine  gold. 
39 


40  SYRINX 

When  thou  hast  done  these  things — return. 
If  thou  art  smiling,  warm  with  desire;  if  I  find 
thee  fair:  perhaps  thou  wilt  be  loved. 


THE    ORGY 


—  Plunge  thy  wreath    .     .     .     into  the  wine, 
as  I  do.     Now  drink  from  the  blossoms.    It  is 
delicious     .     .     .     Ho,   there!     My   friend   is 
thirsty.    I  am  sure  he  is  thirsty.    Give  him  the 
Cretan  wine;  he  likes  it  because  it  is  red    . 

—  O  lassitude!     .     .     .     Thy  lips  are  like 
a  flower  at  my  throat    . 

—  This  roasted  fowl,  I  swear,  is  dainter  than 
a    beautiful    woman.      Now    I    maintain    that 
pleasures  such  as  this     . 

—  Let  her  alone,  thou  ape;  she  is  a  Lesbian 
.     .     .     What  is  it  to  thee?     .     .     .     Who 

41 


42  SYRINX 

threw  that  cup?  O  shame!  It  was  a  rare 
Etruscan  glaze!  How  strangely  the  fragments 
gleam  . 

—  O  lovely,  glowing  limbs!    O  skin  like  petals 
of  the  rose!     More  maddening  than  all  wines 
the    fair   breath   sobbing   past    thy    crimsoned 
lips     . 

—  Gods!     Gods!     I  weep.     See,   my  sleeve 
is  all  wet  with  tears!     I  can  drink     . 
no  more     ...     I  can  drink    . 

—  O  Dionysos,  strike  the  profaner  dead! 


NOCTURNE 


Far  away,  on  an  island  of  the  sea,  lives  a 
woman  in  a  palace  of  gold.  Chains  of  gold  are 
about  her  waist,  and  upon  her  arms  rings  of 
gold  and  rubies  and  stones  of  beryl.  All  alone 
she  lives,  resting  by  night  upon  a  couch  of 
purple  and  by  day  upon  a  throne  of  ivory. 


They  say  no  one  has  ever  known  the  warm 

desire  of  her  lips  nor,  with  a  trembling  hand, 

caressed    the    pliant    splendor    of    her    limbs. 

Strange  tales  are  whispered — she  is  very  fair 

.     But  once  each  month  when  the  world 

is  hushed  and  the  round  moon  gleams  high  in 

the  heavens,  she  stands  on  the  terrace  of  her 

dwelling.    Alone  in  the  moonlight,  like  a  silvery 

image,  she  slips  from  her  veils  and  loosing  her 

43 


44  SYRINX 

hair  from  its  glittering  mesh,  lets  it  float  like  a 
deep  shadow  into  the  night  .  .  .  The 
warm  wind  of  the  south  caresses  it  with  a  thou 
sand  furtive  hands  and,  stealing  between  the 
wavering  strands,  sweeps  on,  laden  with  a 
singular  perfume. 


Then  love  starts  from  its  troubled  slumber 
and  in  the  dim  temples  of  Astarte  the  flowers 
upon  the  altars  bloom  afresh. 


THE     SEEKER 


They  asked:    — What  seekest  thou? 
And   the   old   man   answered:   — I   seek   for 
Truth. 


—  I  seek  for  Truth  —  all  other  desires  are 
long  since  dead.  For  many  years,  in  far  lands, 
before  strange  gods,  my  fruitless  quest  has 
drawn  me  on.  But  in  the  sanctuaries  all  is 
vanity,  all  is  lust  for  temporal  power,  all  is 
profaned  by  the  impious  hand  of  man. 


—  Many   have   asked:     What   seekest   thou? 

And  at  my  answer  some  have  laughed  while 

others  have  eagerly  revealed  strange  phantoms 

which    they    worshiped — satisfied.     But   in  the 

45 


46  SYRINX 

sanctuaries  all  is  vanity,  all  is  lust  for  temporal 
power,  all  is  profaned  by  the  impious  hand  of 
man. 

Those  gathered  around  him  as  he  spoke, 
laughed  also.  But  one,  standing  alone,  said 
gently: 

—  O  friend  who  seekest  vainly,  not  in  shadowy 
temples  but  among  the  fields,  beneath  out 
spreading  trees,  upon  the  bosom  of  the  waters, 
lies  the  occult  heart  of  thy  desire.  For  Truth, 
alone,  does  not  exist.  Seek  Beauty  if  thou 
desirest  peace. 


ON     THE    AGORA 


—  Seest  thou  that  young  man  in  the  white 
linen  tunic  with  a  yellow  sash?  Look  at  him 
well. 


—  I  see  him.    Who  is  he? 


—  He  is  a  poet.  His  verses  are  very  strange. 
In  them  one  can  hear  the  sighing  of  the  wind, 
the  murmur  of  waters,  the  whisperings  of  the 
trees  .  .  .  They  are  very  strange  . 
But  that  is  not  all.  Some  which  I  have  heard 
are  stranger  still  .  .  .  They  say  he  has 
seen  the  nymphs.  They  say  he  has  slept  in 
the  forests  among  the  satyrs;  that  Pan  himself 
47 


48  SYRINX 

once  listened  from  a  leafy  bower  while  he  sang 
And  when  he  plays  the  syrinx,  no  one 
can  resist  him. 

—  He  is  looking  this  way.     How  strangely 
piercing   his  eyes!     .     .     .     He  is  very  beau 
tiful.    Let  us  go  speak  with  him    . 

—  I  dare  not.    I  dare  not. 


SHADOW    GOLD 


High  on  the  terrace,  the  hot  night  close 
about  me,  the  starry  sky  pressing  down  over 
my  eyes,  I  lie  stretched  out  upon  a  couch  awaiting 
forgetfulness  which  never  comes.  Crouched  on 
the  floor  at  my  feet,  a  slave  girl  dreams  gently, 
one  slender  arm  thrown  out  across  the  draperies, 
a  cheek  pillowed  on  a  hollowed  shoulder. 


Instead  of  the  sleep  for  which  I  long  in  vain, 
innumerable  visions  flit  across  my  memory — 
gleaming  visions  of  beauty  with  eyes  that  gaze 
at  me  and  hands  that  beckon  ...  I 
curse  them,  shadows  of  joys  which  never  were 
and,  one  by  one,  they  fade  away. 


One  vision  only  never  fades  as  I  toss  sleepless 
upon  my  couch — one  vision  with  golden  hair 
49 


5O  SYRINX 

where  once  my  hands  strayed  undenied     . 
alas!     .     .      .     With    soft,    warm    lips    where 
once  I  drank  of  immortality — one  vision  with 
averted   head   and   white   limbs   fragrant   with 
another  love  than  mine 


I  stir  uneasily  and  groan.  The  slave  girl 
awakes  with  a  whimpering  sigh  and,  raising 
her  head,  looks  at  me  with  drowsy,  questioning 
eyes. 


PAN 


These  are  the  forests  of  Arcadia  . 
Knowest  thou  why  they  are  so  fair,  why  the 
wind  sighs  so  gently  among  the  trees,  why  the 
leaves  are  so  green,  the  earth  so  warm  and 
soft,  why  the  fields  are  bright  with  flowers  and 
why,  from  the  reeds  beside  the  brooks,  strange 
whispers  come? 

Knowest  thou,  too,  why  the  sun  shines  down 
so  bright  by  day  and  why,  at  night,  the  moon 
light  dreams  upon  the  sleeping  world,  peopling 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  rocks  and  trees  with 
unknown  things? 

Listen  and  I  will  tell  thee  ...  A  god 
dwells  here. 

51 


52  SYRINX 

From  far  away,  echoing  over  the  flowering 
fields,  gliding  among  the  trees,  hearest  thou 
those  limpid  notes  clear  as  the  love-song  of  a 
bird?  Hearest  thou  those  pure,  sweet  notes 
blending  with  earth  and  sky,  voicing  the  subtle 
spirit  of  the  woods  and  fields? 

It  is  the  god     ...     be  still  and  listen. 


CIRCE 


Bathed  in  the  flooding  moonlight,  thy  golden 
palace  gleams  amidst  the  whispering  pines  and 
cypress  trees.  From  the  wide  open  doors,  the 
road  winds  Like  a  pale  ribbon  across  the  fields 
to  the  dark  line  of  the  shore. 

Within  thy  palace,  lamps  are  burning,  harps 
and  citherns  whisper  and  sigh  of  love;  and  the 
laughter  of  thy  guests,  the  clashing  of  cups 
and  dishes,  echo  among  the  trees. 

But  thou — thou  standest  alone,  high  on  the 
terrace.  The  moonlight  covers  thee  like  a  misty 
veil  through  which  thy  jewels  flash  like  living  eyes. 

How  beautiful,  how  darkly,  deadly  beautiful 
thou  art!    How  black  thine  unbound  hair,  how 
53 


54  SYRINX 

deep  thine  eyes!  How  like  a  spirit  of  the  night 
as  thou  standest,  with  arms  outstretched,  mur 
muring  strange  words  above  the  smoking  incense 
while  the  hoarse  croakings  of  the  frogs,  the 
shrieks  of  flitting  bats,  resound  like  sweetest 
music  in  thine  ears! 


THE    FALLING    LEAVES 


When  the  sun  sets  all  too  soon  beyond  the 
mountains  and  the  western  skies  are  flooded 
with  pallid  crimson: 

When  the  trees  stand  naked  and  black  against 
the  afterglow  and  the  evening  star  shines  high 
above  the  gathering  mists  of  twilight: 


When  the  earth  is  chilled  by  sweeping  winds: 
when  the  water  of  the  pools  lies  dead  and  silent 
and  the  last  leaves  drop,  one  by  one,  from  the 
trees: 


The   naiads   forsake   the   springs,   the   syrinx 
of  the  satyrs  is  heard  no  more  and  the  dryads, 

55 


56  SYRINX 

deep  in  the  hearts  of  the  trees,  whimper  and 
wrap  themselves  in  the  shelter  of  their  long, 
dark  hair. 

And  I — I  stand  alone  in  the  vast  solitude — 
and  tremble. 


LETHE 


Through  the  yellow  twilight  of  the  under 
world,  two  shadows  glided  over  the  asphodel 
in  bloom.  At  the  verge  of  a  leaden  stream, 
they  paused. 


—  Here  thou  drinkest,  said  One,  and  all 
remembrance  will  be  washed  from  thee.  It  is 
the  Law.  There  is  no  other  way,  no  other  path 
from  life  to  life. 


—  I  cannot!     Oh,  I  cannot  drink!     . 
Why  must  I  lose  that  which  is  greater  than  all 
other  things?    My  heart  is  filled  with  memories 


57 


58  SYRINX 

—  Be  brave.     In  a  moment  them  wilt  not 
even  know  thou  hast  forgotten. 


Along  the  shore,  the  lotos  blooms  floated  like 
pale  flames;  and  softly  the  dark  water  glided 
onward,  hiding  the  secrets  in  its  breast. 


LIST  IN  BELLES-LETTRES 
Published  by  CLAIRE  MARIE 
Three  East  Fourteenth  St.,  New  York 


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